Power: Arca Book 3

by Karen Diem

  Andy set the vehicle down and ripped off the door. Yay for freakish strength, he sent with no real cheer in his mental voice. He made a gagging sound and took an involuntary step back after peeking in the window. One guy got fried, but a woman with a head wound is alive in there. Wyn, when you have a minute, can you help her? She seems banged up, but she’s not charred and grisly like her poor friend.

  Wyn rose and scurried toward the scorched bucket truck. She picked her way around the detritus littering the highway: sparkling glass, stinking scorched plastic, and endless unidentifiable pieces of metal trash. Coming, but I’d like to finish working on that other gentleman if I can. He’ll survive at this point, but I want to get him home to his family tonight.

  With a deep breath, Andy trudged to the other door and tore it off. He reached into the vehicle, his distaste at the proximity to the dead man transmitting over the party line. Lifting the injured woman, he carried her to the closest grass and set her down.

  Since Zita wasn’t certain he had meant to let them know how much the body disturbed him, she said nothing, focusing on calming her own queasiness and not staring. As the rush from the battle faded, she became conscious of how cold, tired, and outright filthy she felt. A gust of wind brought the scents of offal and cooked meat to her overworked nose, and she almost gagged at the reminder of the death surrounding them. Her mind refused to process the entire scene, instead focusing on pieces here and there. Small, bloody, frequently scorched pieces. This blows.

  For all her squeamishness about fighting, Wyn did not hesitate to go to the injured woman and kneel beside her.

  Andy backed away from the two women and scanned the area, his breath hissing, shallow and fast through clenched teeth. His muscles tensed, and his gaze went everywhere other than to the dead, even scanning the sky.

  Zita slapped his shoulder. “They’re gone, mano. After this, she’ll be able to do that healing spell in her sleep.”

  He nodded and punched her back, the sort of sissy tap that would have had her growling at him at any other time.

  In the midst of the prison escape, however, it was comforting to know normalcy still existed, and Zita seized on it. “Listen, the cold is killing me, so I’ll change shape and keep watch from overhead. If I see trouble, I’ll let you guys know. You stick with Wyn and her patients and get her to safety if someone comes after her, okay? I’ll come back down when she finishes healing whoever you pulled out of the truck.”

  He grumbled something unintelligible.

  She took that as agreement. Remembering his preference for golden eagles, Zita became one and threw herself eagerly into the waiting sky.

  ***

  When Wyn’s spell ended, Zita dove and landed, returning to Arca’s form. “We good now?”

  Wyn rose, touched the rescued electrician’s shoulder, and offered her a serene smile. “That should help, Rani, but I’d still suggest being seen by someone with actual medical knowledge. I need to finish up with that cop, Arca. Then we can go.” Wyn drifted back to the injured man who struggled to half-sit up, confusion and blood smeared in equal measure on his face as he stroked the scorched holes in the Kevlar vest over his heart.

  Andy trailed behind Wyn.

  “Here, I’ll give you a hand up,” Zita said, hauling the electrician to her feet. Almost absently, she considered the other woman’s fitness. Not a gym rat, she decided, but plays tennis or basketball and doesn’t know martial arts or she would have gotten up better from a prone position. With all that height, she probably got invited to a lot of teams. Good confidence in her motions, though.

  The electrician blinked and released Zita’s hand. “Call me Rani. You’re quite… muscular, aren’t you?” She tucked black mink hair, styled in one of those pointy modern cuts, behind her ears.

  “Sí.” Zita grinned. Sobering, she said, “So, the cops and the EMS people will take care of getting you home and all. I’m sorry your friend didn’t make it.”

  “Thanks. None of it has hit yet, but Harvey was a good guy,” she said, glancing at the wrecked bucket truck, then away with a shudder.

  Hoping to lift the other woman’s spirits, Zita offered, “Bet being immune to electricity is handy for an electrician.”

  Bemusement on her face, Rani blinked at her. “I hadn’t realized I was… until now, that is. But I guess.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Let’s get you going, so somebody professional can check you out.” Zita took a few steps toward the ambulances.

  Rani licked her lips and said, “I know it’s a bad time, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I may never get another chance… Can I ask you a few questions?” She slowly approached Zita.

  “Depends what you want to know.” Zita’s eyes narrowed.

  “Your blond friend over there… are you two together?”

  Zita snorted, and tension seeped away from her shoulders. “Never happening. I’m into dudes.”

  Rani hastened to keep up. “So, is she seeing anyone?”

  With a glance at Wyn, Zita saw the cop had revived and was gaping up at her friend with a dopey, incredulous expression. His mouth hung open, and he blushed beet red. Wyn goes for men with pretty faces, impeccable clothing, and self-confidence. “Not as far as I know, but that guy there doesn’t have a chance. He’s not her type.”

  Rani gave a slight, pleased smile, the long lashes lowering over her eyes in a move Zita had seen Wyn make millions of times. “I see. Would you walk me over? I know I’m okay, but I can’t seem to keep from feeling like I’m going to wake up and be trapped with poor Harvey again.”

  Zita shrugged, remembering Wyn’s moniker an instant before her mouth kicked in. “Sure thing. Muse said she’s sending everyone over to the EMTs to check out, so how about I take you to the cop she’s healing now, and you can go with him to the ambulance? Don’t mean to abandon you, but the cops will want to talk to us helpful citizen types now, and you know how they can be.”

  Rani nodded and followed.

  Wyn disengaged from the cop, glow disappearing, and she pointed at the closest ambulance. As she crossed paths with Zita and Rani, she waved and headed to Andy.

  With heavy-lidded eyes, Rani smiled as she watched Zita’s friends. “Thanks for the company on the walk over. And, you know… the rescue.” Turning to the still-blushing cop, she offered him her hand and murmured something.

  “No hay bronca. Sorry again about your friend. Take care,” Zita said. She headed toward her friends, turning when she heard the rapid patter of steps behind her, falling into a defensive position for a moment before she recognized the electrician.

  Rani ran up to Zita, her cheeks flushed under the rich topaz of her skin. “Listen, would you give your friend this? She can call if she wants when this is all over. Tell her to use the cell number.” She pressed a business card into Zita’s hand.

  Zita pocketed the card without reading it. “Whatever, but no promises.”

  “The first child will be named after you if it works out,” Rani said, scurrying back to the cop with one last glance over her shoulder.

  With a laugh, Zita joined her friends. She nudged Wyn. “Hey, the lady over there gave me this and told me you could call the cell if you wanted. Made a joke about naming the first kid after me and all, but I’d rather the niño had a cool name, like Bruce Jet Bimba or Michelle Cheng Maria.”

  “Did you just name off a bunch of martial artists at random?” Andy asked. “And whoever Bimba is, I doubt Muse’d pick that name.”

  Wyn glanced over her shoulder. “Really?” She took the card, and added, “I would also never choose Bruce as a moniker after knowing about your, ah, personal appliance.” After scrutinizing the card, she put it in her bag. With a small smile, Wyn nodded at Rani and wiggled her fingers.

  “You’re going to call the cop?” Zita said. She eyed him from the top of his close-cropped hair to his clown-sized feet. “I guess he’s in decent shape, but I thought you liked the polished type.” I prefer long,
yummy, streamlined muscles, myself.

  “Not him. Her,” Wyn said, roses blooming in her cheeks. She seemed a little uncertain, and her shoulders tightened.

  Realization hit Zita like a pillow to the face. “Oh.” She blinked, then shrugged. “So, I should stop pointing out the hot guys to you? Sorry, didn’t know they weren’t your thing.”

  Wyn shook her head. “It’s fine. Gender’s not a huge consideration in a romantic partner for me. I don’t advertise because my boss is conservative that way, but it’s not really a secret. It just hasn’t come up—before now.”

  “Huh. Okay.” Zita shrugged. Studying the electrician, she tried to evaluate her as a date for Wyn. After a moment, she grunted. I guess she’s gorgeous, like a living statue in warm wood tones, all cheekbone, big eyes, and queenly posture. She makes sense if I use the same criteria for her that I do picking guys for Wyn.

  Her face nervous, Wyn nibbled her lower lip and studied Zita and Andy. “You’re both not too upset by this, I hope?”

  Zita waved a dismissive hand. “Por supuesto. What do I care who you sleep with provided they treat you right and are good for you? I’m all about the dick, so I wasn’t interested in you, anyway. Actually, I’m happy for you because it opens up your options. It’d be nice if one of the three of us could find someone.”

  “Same,” Andy said.

  Zita snickered. “Well, I’ll point out the hot dudes to you too, mano.”

  He turned red. “I didn’t mean that part. I’m straight. I meant… her preferences don’t bother me.”

  Wyn swept both of them up in a hug, her eyes shiny.

  “Did I miss something? Why are we hugging?” Zita gave her a squeeze and patted her back.

  “So, what’re you guys talking about?” Jerome asked as he sauntered up, Aideen drifting behind him.

  Releasing the others, Wyn glanced toward the electrician and back. “Oh, nothing much. We were preparing to leave.”

  Unable to resist the gathering of vigilantes, the reporter over scurried to join them. Her cameraman followed close behind.

  With a smile whose wattage was undimmed by his sunglasses and cap, Jerome angled his face down to shadow his face better and held his hand out to the woman. “You can come closer if you want. I hope nobody hurt you?”

  Caution warred with gleefulness in every line of her body as the reporter stepped nearer, her gaze locked on his. “Thank you. No, we’re all fine. When we got a call something would happen, the tip was specific that we had to stay in our van or die, so we did. Who are you?” she breathed, leaning toward him and running her hand with the microphone up his arm.

  The pause was almost imperceptible. Jerome glanced down, tapped his sunglasses and the bill of his hat down more, and said, “You can call me Chevalier, baby.”

  Player and cub reporter. She seems so young. Wonder if she hates hearing that as much as I do? Probably not, given her profession. In unspoken agreement, Zita and Andy withdrew to the tree line, well away from the microphones and cameras.

  Still blazing, Aideen stepped in front of the reporter. Her words boomed out with an undertone of hissing as she spread her arms wide and rose a few feet from the ground. “Know that I am The Living Flame, mistress of fire.”

  “Oye, she’s selling herself short. Don’t you hate it when people do that? I bet she could be so much more than fire’s side piece,” Zita commented sotto voce to Andy.

  He didn’t move or smile at the joke.

  Half-hiding behind Jerome, the reporter nodded at Aideen, wide-eyed. She inched away from the fiery woman, undoubtedly having realized that the same hair products keeping her hair motionless and television-ready would ignite with any stray spark.

  “Is it just me or has Aideen forgotten that most people aren’t fans of burning alive now that she’s a walking human-shaped inferno?” Zita said, hoping to lure a reaction from Andy.

  Wyn gave a sweet chortle, the sound carrying like laughing bells and trouble. She announced in ringing tones, “Then you can call me Muse, Queen of Wyrd and Spell.” She spread her arms wide, then brought them down, hair floating around her face and shoulders in a breeze that had been nonexistent a moment ago. With her halo of hair and almost luminous skin, she was unearthly and beautiful and wild.

  The camera swung to her and stayed.

  Aideen glowered.

  Wyn giggled and winked at the camera. “Or just Muse.” Anything she said after that was lost.

  Andy stared at the newspeople busy filming Wyn, Jerome, and Aideen. He inched closer to where Zita leaned against a tree. “I’m totally going to lose my geek card. It’ll spontaneously combust. I still haven’t thought of a good superhero name.”

  “Birdbrains?” Zita suggested, keeping her own voice low and grinning. If he’s talking to me, he’s not wallowing in self-pity, and that’s a huge improvement. “Birdseed Pervert might still be available. That totally would work for you.”

  He snorted. “No. You suck at names. I wish I had my phone so I could check and see which ones are trademarked. J—Chevalier is awesome. He had his name all ready.”

  Zita shook her head and turned away, scanning the highway. The mass of cops must’ve felt confident they had the situation in hand, as they were allowing EMTs to tend to the wounded. “You just got a massage from a live electrical wire and broke an overpass with your butt. Are you seriously worried about trademarks?”

  “What? Lawyers cost money, especially the sharks I’d need if one of the big comic companies came after me for infringement.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Pick something easy, then. How about Thunderbird? Your big form resembles one, and it references a muscle car. That’s all macho and might fool someone.”

  Andy grimaced. “I’m really feeling the love here. No. Almost every Native American superhero in comics has a name like Thunderbird or Chief Something-to-do-with-animals, even if it’s somewhat… sacrilegious. Not to mention, it feels wrong to pick my own name. You don’t give yourself names. Others gift you with them.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck and watched the other three goofing for the cameras. “You may be stuck with Mano then. Arca’s okay. It’s short and easy to spell.”

  “I don’t like Mano. I mean, maybe Dreadnought—no, that one’s taken—or something cool. Dr. Dreadnought?”

  “Doctor Birdseed Pervert?” Zita poked his side, her smile conspiratorial.

  Andy rolled his eyes.

  “More seriously, mano, I’ll help you think of something. Though I still think you should run with Birdseed Pervert while you got the chance. That name could be big.”

  In the distance, Aideen visibly huffed at something one of the others said, folded her arms across her chest, and turned away. She rose into the sky in a burst of heat and a flare of her fiery aura. When the reporter and a few of those hurrying by fell back, her derisive laugh echoed and crackled, then she sped from sight, trailing sparks like the tail of a comet.

  Jerome and Wyn shook their heads, conferred in low voices, and turned the full force of their joint charisma on the reporter.

  Andy muttered, “I don’t know why I didn’t expect them to break out of custody sooner. In the comics, they never stay locked up long. Most of the comic book prisons have revolving doors.”

  “What?” Zita whirled to face Andy.

  “Never mind, Z, never mind.” He stared out at the highway.

  Following his gaze, Zita tried to change the subject. “Cleanup on this will take forever. They’ll need to use those industrial jetpacks to fix the overpass unless they want traffic sucking here for months. It’s not the Beltway, but it’s still a big road.”

  Andy’s attention cut to her. “I’m surprised you know about those. Most gyms don’t have construction equipment, and jetpacks are still rare.”

  “They look like fun, but they’re meant to lift heavy machinery, like cement pourers with massive hoses. That means they’re too hefty to pick up unaided, plus they’re not balanced for a human body.” She caug
ht him rolling his eyes. “What? You can’t blame a girl for considering taking one for a spin. I would’ve given it back.”

  He snorted. “That explains your interest. I can just see you telling us to hold your beer and watch this.”

  Zita frowned. “I don’t drink.”

  “It’s a bad joke. Forget about it.” As if his brief moment of levity never existed, Andy scowled at the ground and shoved both hands into his pockets.

  He hasn’t even tried making a pun lately. I didn’t think I’d miss that. Zita put her hands on her hips as Wyn and Jerome laughed and spoke with the reporter. A pair of young uniforms hovered at the edge of the group, apparently unwilling to interrupt the impromptu interview.

  Andy nodded to himself, his gaze distant behind his mask. His mouth turned down, and he plucked at the scraps of his shirt. “I should go soon so I can get back before Dad wonders where I am.”

  “After new clothes and lunch, I hope. No shirt, no shoes, no service after all,” she teased. When he made no response, Zita frowned and stopped talking.

  The silence lasted all of a minute.

  “Cops,” he said, jerking his chin toward several uniforms who appeared to be heading toward them. A grizzled veteran led the charge, one who didn’t seem to care about the reporter. Not all the police had holstered their weapons.

  “Guys, if you’re all done with the showboating, we should go,” Zita urged, raising her voice to be heard and walking closer.

  Clouds gathered overhead, darkening the day.

  Dragging her attention away from Jerome and Wyn, the reporter’s wide brown eyes settled on Zita. She blinked once or twice as if she had not realized Zita and Andy were there.

  Yes, lots of bystanders hang out in purple Spandex and masks at crime scenes. It’s a fad these days. Zita glanced at the approaching police officers and fidgeted.

  Wyn laughed over the party line.

  With her microphone raised like a shield, the reporter stepped toward Zita and Andy, most of her attention on Andy. “And you are? What can you two do?”

  Zita raked a hand through her hair, mind racing. “They call me Arca, and this is… well, if you think the size of that wolf was impressive, you should see the wingspan there.” She nodded toward Andy.